


Denny's Isn't Sexy

by lusilly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Smut, Reunion, hale siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusilly/pseuds/lusilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Cora and Derek were gone, Stiles started a-texting her. This, as these things are wont to do, escalated quickly. The Hales ride into Beacon Hills at 1AM on a school night, and Stiles is thinking about seeing her for the first time since they (fell in love?) exchanged nudes, whereas Cora is mostly thinking about the nudes, to be honest.</p><p>(Shameless fluff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denny's Isn't Sexy

            “Stiles,” called the Sheriff, closing the door behind him tiredly, shedding his jacket. “I’m home.” There was silence; he peered up the stairs, then called, “Stiles!” again. After a few moments door banged open and hurried footsteps came heading down the upstairs hallway. “I know it’s late,” continued the Sheriff, hanging up his jacket, heading towards the kitchen. “Full moon always attracts the crazies. Nothing supernatural, though. Just dumbass kids. You know, that reminds me-” he glanced back; Stiles was in the front hall, phone in hand, opening the front door. “ _Stiles!_ ” called the Sheriff, and Stiles was halfway out the door before his father caught him by the shoulder. “Hey,” he said, turning him around. “Where you going?”

            “What?” said Stiles loudly, blinking at his father; he tugged earphones out of his ears and then said, “Yo, hey, Dad. When did you get home?”

            “Just now,” replied the Sheriff. “And I came back here expecting to have a nice conversation with my son, then say goodnight and go to sleep.” He paused expectantly. When Stiles stared back at him blankly, he added, “You want to tell me why that almost didn’t happen?”

            “Um,” began Stiles, and his father could recognize that look in his eyes, already far away. “It’s not _that_ late.”

            “It’s almost one AM.”

            “Yeah OK I hear you, Dad, but I’m a teenager, so in terms of my circadian rhythm that’s, like, six PM-”

            Tugging his son back into the house, closing the door behind him, the Sheriff said, “You’re not going out tonight.”

            “You don’t even know what I was going to do-!”

            “I know that whatever it is, it’s too late,” replied his father. “It’s a school night, Stiles. Come on.”

            Holding his phone in one hand, Stiles leaned forward beseechingly. “OK, yeah, I understand that, but something hella important just came up, and believe me, I would not be caught dead saying hella if it weren’t. Have you ever heard me say hella? No. That’s because there’s never been a situation so dire as to require such unbelievable lame language. Scott’s rubbing off on me. It's terrible. I'm terrible-”

            “Is this a werewolf thing?” asked the Sheriff, sounding tired. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Werewolf or not, you need to go to sleep.”

            “ _Dad!_ ” hissed Stiles, shaking his head dramatically. “You’re ruining my-” the phone in his hand buzzed, and Stiles said, “Hold that thought,” and then answered the phone, tugging the earphones out, pressing it up to his ear. “Hey-o.”

            There was a short silence. Stiles pressed his hand against his face, blinking his eyes, and then continued, “Yeah yeah yeah yeah, no, I’m on my way.”

            “No you’re not,” said the Sheriff emphatically.

            Glancing up at his father, holding a finger in front of his mouth to indicate silence, Stiles continued, “Sure. Absolutely. You're all good right, right? OK! I was just checking. All right. I’ll pay. Don’t! Don’t even. OK.” A pause, and then a little laugh, and then he said wryly, “I know a few. Yep. Mhm. OK. I’ll see you in a few.”

            “No, you won’t,” said the Sheriff, and Stiles shot a glare at him.

            “Yep. Bye.” He hung up the phone and looked at his father. “What was that for?” he asked, looking offended. “I don’t get to answer my own phone calls anymore?”

            “Was that a drug dealer?” asked the Sheriff. “Are you dealing drugs?”

            “ _What?_ No! Look at me, I’m a skinny white kid and my dad’s the Sheriff, would _you_ buy drugs from me?”

            “Drug users are not known to be the smartest people in the world, Stiles-”

            “No,” said Stiles, shaking his head. “Dad. Oh my God. I just need to go do something.”

            “Do what?” he pressed. “Just tell me. Does it involve saving lives, or protecting anybody? Because you know I can _help_ you if-”

            “No,” replied Stiles. “No, it’s not – it’s just-” he trailed off with a frustrated sigh, and then he was quiet for a second. And then he looked up at his dad and he said, maybe the slightest bit unsteadily, “I have a girlfriend.”

            His father looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed. “Really,” he said.

            “Yes, really,” replied Stiles, offended. “You don’t believe me? Thanks, Dad. Wow. I am profoundly affected by this. I'm probably going to need counseling. My own father doesn't believe I'm capable of getting a girlfriend if I want to have a girlfriend-”

            “Hold on,” said his father, holding out a hand to silence him, squinting slightly in the darkness. “A girlfriend?”

            “Yes,” said Stiles, his gaze flickering away slightly, almost self-consciously. “A girlfriend.”

            The Sheriff was silent for a moment, and then he asked, “Is it Lydia Martin?”

            “No,” said Stiles quickly. “What? I got over Lydia, like, months ago.”

            “Did you really?”

            “I did,” replied Stiles shortly.

            “OK,” he said reasonably. “Then who is it?”

            Stiles watched his father for a moment, as if debating. And then, finally, he glanced away and he muttered, “Cora.”

            The Sheriff blinked at him. “Cora?” he replied.

            “Yeah,” replied Stiles, looking up. “Cora. Cora Hale, you know, she passed out in my bedroom that one time?”

            “ _Stiles_ ,” said his father, in a reprimand, “that’s no way to talk about a girl-”

            “No, literally, remember?” pressed Stiles. “When I was telling you about all this werewolf stuff? She was sick, and then we took her to the hospital.” His father looked at him suspiciously, and then, with a small, impatient sigh, Stiles added, “Derek’s sister.”

            “Derek Hale’s sister?”

            “Do we know any other Dereks?”

            “The Hales have been out of town for months,” said the Sheriff. “How are you dating a girl you haven’t seen since last year?”

            “Um, excuse you,” replied Stiles, “it’s been three months and two weeks. Hardly a year. And, duh, that’s what they have cell phones and texting and Skype and Facebook for. Even though she only just got a Facebook like, a month ago. Oh my God, it was so cute. Derek had to make it for her, and I was Skyping with them, and she was like _but I don’t care about those people_ and I was like, Cora, you don’t get a Facebook for _you_ – I mean, you get it to post selfies but, I mean, let’s be real, that’s what Instagram's for now. She never posts on Instagram, though, I’ve tagged her like ten times and she never even likes my posts. She texts, I guess, but-”

            “Stiles,” interrupted the Sheriff. “Where are you going with this?”

            “Oh,” said Stiles, blinking, coming back to the moment. “Right. OK. Well. She’s back.”

            His father stared at him. “She’s back?”

            “Yeah. She and Derek just got into town.  She wants to meet up.”

            “At one AM?”

            “Hey, they drove here,” said Stiles pointedly. “They can’t control traffic jams, Dad.”

            “No,” began the Sheriff, but Stiles cut him off.

            “Oh, come on! It’s not like I’m sneaking off to get high and have unprotected sex. I’m taking her to Denny’s and I’m gonna buy her a Grand Slam because she’s been eating on-the-road food all day. And before you say anything, no, that’s not a metaphor for something highly inappropriate, even though I kind of really wish it was.” He cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “I’ve been waiting to see her again for a long time,” he said, his voice slightly quieter now. “Can you just please give me a break? Just this once?”

            The Sheriff watched him for a moment. And then he asked, “Denny’s?”

            “Yeah,” replied Stiles. “The one on Harbor.”

            “Is her brother going to be there?”

            “He’s dropping her off,” said Stiles, “but no, he’s not going to be chaperoning, if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t you just _trust me_ , for once?”

            “Don’t,” said the Sheriff, shaking his head. “Don’t pull that card with me, Stiles. God knows I let you do a lot more than I should.”

            “OK, well,” said Stiles, “that’s because it’s our system and it works. Let’s not mess it up now. Can I please just go?” For a second, Stiles’s father said nothing. And then he let out a little breath of a sigh and nodded. Instantly, Stiles’s face brightened, and he threw his arms around his father in a tight hug, then bounded towards the front door. “Thank you!” he called, from the door. “’Night!”

            The door slammed after him, and the Sheriff was left alone in his house.

            When Stiles started the car, the radio blasted out at him loudly; instantly he turned it way down, glancing around him at the quiet, dark neighborhood. When he was sure no one was about to come storming out of their house with a pitchfork or a set of bitter, backhanded comments about _them hooligans_ , he turned the volume up just a teensy bit, enough that he could hear the beat below the music but not quite the words themselves. He knew the song, though, and as he headed out onto the street, he sung along under his breath.

            It was very dark, and a few months ago he might have been a little afraid to be out in Beacon Hills in the middle of the night. But there was very little he feared anymore, not with two packs on his side – Scott’s and, if everything was as real as it was through text messages and Skype, Cora’s too. He glanced at his phone. After a few minutes, he could see the bright Denny’s sign down the street, lit up in the darkness. Abruptly, something shot through him. Text messages. Skype. Snapchat and a little bit of Facebook and calling at three AM. They were far, far different from how they’d been the last time they saw each other in person.

            He turned into the parking lot. In the space right before the entrance, Derek’s sleek black Camaro was parked; Derek and Cora both stood on the driver’s side, and Derek held a paper cup of coffee  in his hands. Stiles waved as he turned the Jeep into a space, and then felt like an idiot, and then almost fell over getting out of the car and popped back up and grinned at the Hales. God, wow, had they been that attractive last time they were here? Apparently three months and New York had been all it took to turn Derek and Cora into the Plastics, and Stiles had never felt more like Lindsey Lohan in that first scene when she walks into the trashcan. Something in Derek’s expression especially reeked of _On Wednesdays, we wear pink_.

            “Hey,” said Stiles breathlessly, shoving his hands in his pockets, then taking one out and ruffling his hair, and then looking at Cora. There was an odd sort of look on her face, like the half-second before a smile permanently stamped onto her lips. “Wow. Been a while.”

            “Hi, Stiles,” said Derek, leaning against the car. “Kinda late. Sorry about that.”

            “Oh, no, no,” said Stiles, his gaze jerking to the other man. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t doing anything. Except, you know, sleeping. So.”

            “You know where our apartment is?” asked Derek, taking out his keys.

            “Um,” said Stiles, “no.”

            “It’s fine,” said Cora, but Stiles got the impression she was talking more to Derek than to him. “We’ll be at the loft tonight, anyway.”

            A little doubtfully, Stiles asked, “You’re going back to that place?”

            “For one night,” replied Derek, his eyes slitting through the darkness, out at Stiles. “We’ll be living downtown after this.”

            “Living?” repeated Stiles. “So you guys are, like. Staying?”

            Cora nodded, her eyes heavy and dark – but Stiles didn’t think it betrayed any emotion. Her eyes were always a little heavy and dark. Without looking at her brother, she said simply, “The guy who wasted fifty grand on a pointless degree he’s never once used thinks it’s important that I get a high school diploma.”

            “OK,” said Derek, looking over to his sister, “it’s not _pointless_ -”

            “Yes,” interrupted Cora, but there was some degree of affection in her voice, as low as it might be. A smile broke out on Derek’s face, and his expression softened into something Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever seen, certainly not in person. “Education is pointless if you don’t do anything with it.”

            “Wooh, yeah,” added Stiles. “I totes agree. Education is for total weenies. What do you have a degree in?”

            With that wolfish half-smile on his face, without looking up at Stiles, Derek replied, “Education.”

            “Oh,” said Stiles. “Yeah, of course. You. You are a natural-born teacher, Derek.”

            Ignoring Stiles, Derek turned around and unlocked the car with a little _beep_. “OK,” said Derek, lowering his voice, addressing Cora. “Don’t be too long.” He opened the car door and then leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Cora’s forehead, breathing onto her skin. “Be smart.”

            She pushed him away coyly. “Derek-”

            He held up his hands, one still wrapped around his coffee cup. “Just a reminder.” Derek glanced up at Stiles and said, “Let Scott know we’re back. Tell him I need to talk to him soon.”

            Stiles nodded but didn’t have time to reply before Cora said, “Don’t wait up,” and Derek slid into the car. She closed the door behind him, and then Derek smoothly reversed, heading out of the parking lot. And then Cora and Stiles were left alone there in the Denny’s parking lot, beneath a streetlamp which cast a buzzing, sodium-yellow light on them. The light deepened the shadows of her face, and she looked much older than he remembered her. They stood a few feet apart as Derek drove away, and Cora watched the car leave, then looked over to Stiles.

            “So,” he began, feeling supremely and guiltily awkward. “Hi, you.”

            She moved forward; for a second, Stiles thought about flinching away, but then she reached out and slid her arms around his waist and leaned in and kissed him, her lips warm and inviting. It was a long, lingering kiss, and Stiles didn’t immediately move, frozen at the sudden touch. And then he melted into it, limbs loosening, mouth opening, surging forwards against hers. He felt her lips flicker into a smile and then she pulled slightly away, trailing her mouth around his, to the tip of his nose, and along his jaw.

            “Hi,” he said again, breathlessly. “It’s good to see you, too.”

            “You stink like his pack,” she murmured, still holding him, trailing her mouth against his face. “We’ll have to work on that.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Stiles, blinking at her. She pressed her body against his, and he was suddenly acutely aware of her chest pressed against his. His skin felt warm underneath his clothes, despite the chill of the night. “Are you telling me I smell like Scott? Because that’s not really – I mean, in terms of foreplay, that’s really not a sexy thing to-”

            “Foreplay?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize dinner required getting warmed up first.”

            She pulled away from him, grinning without showing her teeth, heading towards the entrance of the restaurant. “OK,” he called, following her, “but to be fair, it’s one thirty in the morning, so this isn’t really your traditional dinner.” They entered, and a kind but harried-looking woman seated them. Sliding into the booth, leaning across the table, he added, “And it would’ve been nice if our first date had been somewhere that didn’t serve breakfast all day long.”

            “Why not?” asked Cora, opening her menu, peering at the pictures. “I love breakfast.” As soon as Stiles opened the menu, he let out a long, labored sigh. The waitress came back and asked them about drinks. When Stiles said nothing, still staring at the menu before him, Cora said, “I’ll have a hot chocolate. He’ll have the Bowman’s Brew Pumpkin Coffee, thank you.”

            When the waitress left, Stiles lowered the menu, his expression hard. “Did you know?” he asked, his voice very quiet.

            “No,” replied Cora, grinning. “I’m trying to hate it. I really am.”

            “I want all of it,” said Stiles, staring down at the menu before him. “Oh, my God. Cora. Help. Bilbo’s Breakfast Feast. Dwarves’ Turkey and Dressing Dinner. I can die happy, knowing I have consumed lukewarm turkey and dressing inspired by my favorite miniature people.”

            Perusing the options available on the special _Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug_ -inspired items menu, Cora said, “I can’t believe I watched that movie for you. It was terrible.”

            “Shut your mouth. You loved it.”

            “What’s the pretty dwarf’s name?”

            “Kili.”

            “Yeah. He was hot. For a dwarf, I guess.” She looked away, an expression of shame creeping into her eyes. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

            “You should read the book.”

            She made a face of disgust. “I would rather eat roadkill than read a book about fucking hobbits.”

            “Hey. There is no hobbit-fucking in that entire book. That’s what fanfiction is for.”

            “But that’s not really fair,” she murmured, glancing up, her eyes slightly hazy; she had not, Stiles assumed, been listening to his comment. She snapped back to the moment and looked at Stiles sincerely. “I’ve eaten roadkill,” she said, with a shrug. “It’s not that bad.”

            “Y’see,” said Stiles, a contented little expression on his face, leaning forward slightly, “these are the _important_ conversations, right here. I didn’t know that about you. Now I do.” He held his hands out and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Bonding.”

            “Possums are gross, though,” she said sagely, and then the waitress appeared again. Trying not to let his enthusiasm show too much, Stiles ordered Smaug’s Fire Burger, and then Cora ordered the Hobbit Hole Breakfast. “Oh, and the,” she added, glancing at the menu, “the…Radagast’s Red Velvet Pancake Puppies. And the…” she paused, glancing up at Stiles. He nodded slightly, a dopey smile on his face, and she finished, “The Bard’s Pumpkin Pie Milkshake, please.”

            “Sure thing,” said the waitress, taking their menus and leaving them alone once more.

            “Man,” said Stiles, leaning in, hand curled around his mug of pumpkin coffee, the scent of autumn so strong he didn’t know how Cora was standing it. “Last time I was at Denny’s was my sixteenth birthday.”

            “Aw,” said Cora, “so – yesterday?”

            “Hey,” he replied pointedly. “I'll be eighteen in t-minus five months. Not my fault that you’re so old this is practically statutory.”

            “Question,” said Cora, pulling out her phone. “Do your nudes qualify as child pornography?”

            Grinning, Stiles replied, “Pretty sure, yeah. You want to put that away before the nice lady comes back and gets a glimpse of baby’s first dick pics?”

            “They’re _cute_ ,” said Cora, sliding through pictures on her phone, a small smile on her face. “This makes me feel nine kinds of dirty to say, but you’re a little bit cute, Stiles.”

            “Oh, well,” he began, “thank you. I’m touched. In all my bad places.”

            She dropped her phone onto the table before them, glancing up at him, unimpressed. “Don’t make this weird,” she said.

            “Weird?” he echoed disbelievingly. “You’re the one breaking out my nudes.”

            She watched him for a second. Something in the unnatural stillness in her eyes, or the almost imperceptible twist of her nose betrayed her for what she was, something more-than-human, something awfully beautiful, keenly aware and highly predatorial. And then she looked back to the phone and shrugged, saying, “I hope you’re more impressive in person. For my sake.”

            He reached out and plucked the phone out of her hands, looking at the pictures. She was not, in fact, looking at the photos he’d sent her, but instead looking at some pictures which must have been from New York. Before he touched the screen, he asked, “Is it OK if I look through your pictures?”

            She leaned forward, licking a glob of whipped cream off the top of her hot chocolate. “Yeah,” she said, wiping a bit off her lip with her finger. “But I can guarantee you there’s some stuff in there you don’t want to see.”

            “I doubt that,” he murmured in reply, flicking through her pictures. “Amateur photographer, huh?”

            “Not really,” she replied. “The pictures of the penthouse were for... I don’t know. Craigslist, or something.”

            Suddenly, Stiles’s eyes widened and he coughed loudly, as if choking on something he wasn’t drinking. Cora’s lips slit into a smile and Stiles asked, “Holy shit, is that Derek?”

            “Yeah,” she replied, taking the phone back from him, exiting out of Photos and tucking it back into her jacket pocket. “He took me to this little bar he and Laura used to go to, right before we left. As a farewell.” She chuckled, then said, “He got totally smashed, and I had to record some evidence.”

            “What do you mean, smashed?” asked Stiles suspiciously. “Werewolves can’t get drunk, can they?”

            “No,” replied Cora sensibly. “But in New York, if you want to get high, there are always ways to get high.”

            “What?” asked Stiles, grinning. “Drug dealing werewolves? Really?”

            “Best place on Earth,” she purred. “Someday you can tag along. I’ll show you around.”

            There was a short silence. Stiles watched her, and she looked down at her hot chocolate. And then he asked, “Why were you putting the pictures of your place on Craigslist?”

            “Because we were selling it,” she replied, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. “And I was kidding. We didn’t use Craigslist.”

            “I know,” said Stiles. “But it would've been pretty fuckin' adorable if you did, though.” He paused, and then asked, “Why did you sell it? Does this mean you’re back here for good?”

            “OK,” she began, swallowing the hot chocolate, wiping her mouth with the inside of her wrist. “First of all, one question at a time. Secondly, I don’t know, I guess so. New York is amazing. But this is our home. This is where our family died, and I think, for Derek at least, staying here is a way of honoring that.” She was quiet for a second, and then she sighed, “I don’t know, he’s fucking stupid, I never know what’s going through his head. He was weird about the penthouse, you know? He’s still so messed up about Laura. Being there – the lease is in her name, you know – was way too much for him. So that’s part of it.”

            The waitress came back with two plates. “The milkshake and puppies’ll be right out.”

            For a few moments, there was silence. Stiles started with the fries, dragging them through ketchup, without looking up at her. The waitress returned, milkshake and red velvet pancake puppies in hand. Cora let out a low, appreciative moan, then tried the milkshake, offering it to Stiles afterwards. He took some as well, returning the noise of appreciation.

            “So,” said Stiles, “what about you? Happy to be back?”

            She let out a little derisive grunt, then swallowed her food and replied, “Because public school in Beacon Hills is going to be _so_ much more exciting than any of my options in New York.”

            “Point taken,” said Stiles, nodding fairly. “But, hey. You got me here. In person. Totally, you know. Open for tactile exchanges and the like.”

            “Yeah, but,” she replied, making a face, “New York.” She popped a round ball of pancake into her mouth, then chewed pensively. “For every thing he didn’t like,” Cora said slowly, “there were a hundred more things he did.” She paused, looking down at her food. “I hate it when he gets like that. Like he’s not allowed to enjoy anything.”

            Stiles didn’t reply at first, pushing around the last few fries on his plate. “He likes you,” he said, glancing up. “I do too. I like you a lot.”

            “Ugh,” she said, looking disdainful. “I swear to God, if you even _think_ the l-word-”

            “Lesbians,” said Stiles seriously. “I'm thinking about them right now. Thousands of them.”

            “ _Stiles_.”

            “I’m not familiar with any other words beginning with _l_ ,” he replied, with a shrug, then a grin. “I know you hate, you know, being remotely emotionally available, but I’m glad you’re back. I’m really, _really_ , really glad you’re back.”

            She watched him carefully for a few moments, and then turned back to her food. It was about an hour later that they made their way out of the restaurant, deep in conversation. “I’m telling you,” insisted Stiles, “Thor 2 was _not_ that bad. I can’t believe Derek didn’t make you see it.”

            “I don’t care,” said Cora mildly. “At all.”

            “But you’re _missing out_. This is a cultural phenomenom!”

            “That’s what you said about Twilight.”

            “OK, so,” replied Stiles, slightly disgruntled, “I’ll admit, maybe I was wrong about Twilight. I know that CGI’d eldritch monster of an infant was viscerally horrifying, that much I’ll admit, but come on. Don’t tell me you don’t love the idea of werewolves imprinting on people.”

            “Imprinting on a baby?” she asked dubiously. “I don’t love that idea. I think it’s a little gross and pedophilic.”

            “Yeah, but,” said Stiles emphatically, “think of _me_ , though. I’m not a baby.”

            She glanced back at him, smiling. “Well,” she said, “that’s up for debate.”

            They sidled up to his Jeep, using it to shield them from the street, as empty as it was in the early morning hours. She reached out and took him by the hips, then moved him against the car, pressing him against the door and leaning forward and kissing him again. His hands flickered up to her face, cupping around her neck. Her hands went in the opposite direction, curling around his ass, tugging his hips forwards, grinding against hers. He made a little sound, and she grinned against his lips, then pulled away.

            “You cut your hair,” she said, retracting her hands, running them through his hair, cropped short to his skull. Breathlessly, he began to reply, but she placed a finger over his lips, and her eyes flickered up from his mouth to his eyes, and she whispered, “Now what am I going to hold onto when I fuck you?”

            “Oh,” said Stiles, staring into her face. She smiled, and his voice went up several octaves as he said, “Sorry. I’m. My dad wanted me to cut it. It’s the – kind of military-ish. You know?”

            “Mhm,” she replied, nodding, pressing her mouth against the side of his jaw, one hand traveling down to slide across his chest. He breathed deeply, clenching his teeth.

            Her hand slid down to his crotch, palming him through his jeans. He let out a short breath and then whispered, “Cora.”

            “What?” she asked, looking at him with dark eyes. “You want me to stop?”

            “No,” he replied, then he cleared his throat and continued, “Hell no, but if this could happen anywhere – literally, _anywhere_ – other than a Denny’s parking lot, that would be my preference.”

            She considered this for a moment, and then she pulled away from him, heading around his car to get in the passenger’s side. He slipped in as well, closing the door behind him. After a second, she said, “Are you going to take me home now?”

            “Um,” he began, “do you want me to take you home?”

            “Sleep would be nice,” she said, settling down into the seat. “If Derek weren’t there, we could use the same bed he fucked Jennifer on.”

            “Wow,” said Stiles, “you aren’t even in the general vicinity of fucking around, are you?”

            “I’m bored of getting off via Snapchat and Skype, if that’s what you mean,” she replied, taking out her phone. “And if I have to come back to this shithole, somebody’s gotta make it worth my while.”

            Stiles started the car and headed out of the parking lot. “You’re so romantic,” he said.

            “It’s a gift,” she replied, without looking up from her phone. “What do you think our chances are of hooking Derek up with someone who isn’t an evil monster and is also capable of bearing children?”

            “That,” said Stiles, “is not something I often think about.”

            “Stiles,” said Cora, looking over at him, “come on. Everybody knows you’re a little bit gay for Derek.”

            “Um,” replied Stiles, “it’s not just for Derek. My gayness surrounds me like a nebulous cloud of general appreciation for the male body, especially when said bodies are also cute werewolves. How would that in any way qualify me to select a prospective mate for your brother, by the way?”

            “Sizing up the competition, obviously,” she said. “Just keep an eye out. If Derek’s chaining himself to this town because he misses our family, then fine.” She locked her phone, tucking it back into her jacket, and peered out the window into the darkness. “I’ll get him a stupid fucking family.”

            Parked outside of the loft, they spend another half hour or so making out. She lifted herself onto his lap and somehow at some point his belt got undone and his fly unzipped and that night, in the front seat of his Jeep, eyes half-closed and head pressed firmly against the top of the seat, with Cora watching him with those hyper-focused, wolfish eyes, Stiles Stilinski lost his handjob virginity. Cora giggled afterwards and put her lips against his ear. “You are only very slightly more impressive in person,” she whispered, and then she bit his ear gently. As she opened the car door and slipped out, she barked authoritatively, “Keep thinking about Derek! We’re hooking him up if it kills us, as his previous two girlfriends attempted to do.”

            “Boner killer!” called Stiles after her, and she rolled her eyes.

            “You were finished anyway!” she called back, and when she grinned, her teeth shone white and wide in the dark of the night, and then she disappeared, heading into the loft.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm incapable of writing PWP. Sorry.
> 
> Fluffy Stora shit. I may or may not write more. I probably will, but it'll likely be in the form of loosely connected Stora vignettes which revolve around either (a) Stora sex, (b) Hale siblings love, (c) everyone trying to set Derek up with someone who isn't evil.
> 
> P.S.: The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug Denny's menu is a Real Thing That Really Exists: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/grubgrade/dennys-hobbit-menu_b_4227394.html


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